


Caretaking, Clint Barton-style

by coffeejunkii



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phil Needs a Hug, Protective Clint Barton, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 03:19:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13114887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: When Clint finds Phil asleep at his desk, he knows two things: Phil isn’t doing well, and Clint is going to do his best to make him feel better.





	Caretaking, Clint Barton-style

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ralkana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/gifts).



“Hey, boss, could you…” Clint stops just inside Phil’s office, one hand still on the doorknob.

Phil is asleep at his desk. Clint has only seen this once before: three years ago, when Phil insisted that he needed to file his report even though he’d been awake for thirty-six hours. Now, however, a soft congested snore suggests another reason for Phil’s unexpected mid-day nap. Clint thought Phil’s voice sounded scratchy this morning, but he seemed fine otherwise, so Clint didn’t give it further thought.

Clint closes the door and punches in the “do not disturb” combination. He rounds Phil’s desk. Phil fell asleep on top of budget code print-outs, which are now creased under his cheek. 

“Phil.” Clint would like to reach for him, but they have protocols for waking each other up. Both of them have deeply ingrained reflexes, and Clint doesn’t feel like being shoved against a wall with a gun in his face. He calls out again, louder. 

Phil stirs. 

“Hey. Time to wake up.” Clint hovers with an outstretched hand until Phil blinks open his eyes. Once Clint is sure that Phil’s noticed him, he settles his palm between Phil’s shoulder blades. “Probably got a crick in your neck, so go slow.”

Phil groans as he starts to sit up. He remains hunched over. Clint slides close enough for Phil to drop his head against Clint’s hip. “Take a minute.” Clint’s palm cups Phil’s nape; he runs his other hand across Phil’s back.

Phil lets out a sigh. “Did I drool on those codes?”

Clint glances over his shoulder. There’s slight smudging in the middle of the page. “It’s not too bad.”

Phil sighs again. He straightens and slumps against the back of his chair. His eyes close. “There’s Advil,” he gestures at the desk drawers. “Can you…”

“Sure, yeah.” Clint finds the bottle in the second drawer. He presses two pills into Phil’s hand, followed by the glass of water that was already on the desk.

Phil downs both. His eyes remain closed.

“Headache?”

“More like an ‘everything ache.’ Arms feel like lead. Can’t breathe through my nose. Tiny people behind my eyeballs stabbing me repeatedly.”

Clint smiles while also wanting to make Phil feel better instantly. “Let’s move to the couch.” 

Phil doesn’t protest when Clint manhandles him the two steps to the well-worn sofa and pushes him down into the cushions. Clint spreads the thick purple fleece blanket over him that lives on the back of the couch and that is big enough for Clint to burrito into when he crashes in Phil’s office. “You should go home, but—”

“Budget meeting.”

“Exactly.” The big quarterly one. No way Phil is missing that one unless he’s gravely injured. “But it’s only in two hours, so nap now.” Clint loosens Phil’s tie. 

Phil’s hand closes around Clint’s wrist. “Stay?” 

“Always.” Clint isn’t sure the couch can handle two grown men, but he’s willing to try. He wedges himself between Phil and the back. Phil turns onto his side, stretched out against Clint’s front. It’s a tight fit, but it works. Clint sets an alarm for an hour and forty-five minutes from now, then slings an arm around Phil and spreads his hand over the middle of Phil’s chest. “Good?”

Phil’s fingers cover Clint’s. “Perfect.”

Phil is out in a minute. Clint ponders how he can extract Phil from his other appointments, the best source for chicken soup in his neighborhood, and dozes off to thoughts of pizza for dinner.

Post-nap, Phil takes another Advil and gets ready for the meeting. As he redoes his tie and puts on his suit jacket, he transforms into Agent Coulson, unflappable badass who is definitely not sick and absolutely ready to conquer the budget meeting.

“I’ll meet you afterwards, ok?” Clint says as they walk down the hallway toward the big conference room.

Phil nods, mind already focused on numbers and spreadsheets.

Once the door closes behind Phil, Clint heads down two levels to pull rank on Phil’s assistant and makes him reschedule all of the remaining appointments for the day. The range is Clint’s next stop. It’s the only way he can take his mind off Phil fighting with various department heads while feeling miserable.

Clint waits right outside the conference room and whisks Phil away as soon as the meeting is over, much to the chagrin of those who already crept close for further off-book negotiations. No one is willing to challenge Clint, who glares at everyone trying to get close to Phil as they walk toward the elevator.

“I think I need to go home,” Phil says once they’re inside.

“Already on that,” Clint replies. “Car’s waiting downstairs.”

Phil looks at him with much fondness. “Thanks.”

Clint squirms a little, not entirely sure what to do with that look and the feelings that come with it. Which is dumb because he knows that Phil—well, that Phil has _feelings_ for him, feelings that sometimes seem too big and overwhelming and oh-my-god-Clint-don’t-fuck-this up, but also make his heart beat fast and his fingertips tingle. He has a good thing going with Phil, and after eight months, Clint is almost ready to believe that they can make this work for a potentially long time.

Once they get to Clint’s place, Lucky woofs happily and nearly makes them trip three times on the way across to the couch because he keeps winding between their legs, too excited to have his humans at home so early on a weekday. Clint tries to push him away, but eventually gives up.

“Don’t jump on Phil,” he warns. “He’s not feeling well.”

Lucky lets out a short whine, but doesn’t join Phil on the couch. He nudges his head under Phil’s hand, however.

Clint heads toward his bedroom. “I’ll be right back.” He digs through his drawer to find his softest sweatpants, warm socks, and his favorite hoodie. He also grabs a pillow.

He tries to help Phil out of his clothes, but gets a look that says that Phil might be sick, but that he’s not too sick to dress himself. Clint leaves him to it and rummages around in his kitchen, pleased to find unexpired ginger tea. He’s not sure how or why he has ginger tea, but won’t question this further. 

Holding a steaming mug, he sits down on the couch and pulls Phil’s legs into his lap so they both fit. “It’s still a little too hot to drink.” He keeps holding the mug, knowing from experience that Lucky would have his face in it as soon as Clint sets it down on the coffee table.

“What is it?” Phil asks. He sounds tired, but looks comfortable. Like he feels at home. It’s a happy sight.

“Ginger tea.”

Phil makes a face.

“It’ll help.” Clint doesn’t really know that, but he wants to believe it. He hands the tea to Phil.

“It’s not awful,” Phil says.

“Keep drinking. I’ll order chicken soup later.”

“All the cold classics.” Phil takes a few more sips of the tea. “This does make my throat feel better.”

“See.” A warm fuzziness spreads through Clint. Phil’s done a lot for him over the years, countless hours spent at his bedside in Medical included, and it feels good to give something back. 

Lucky whines, clearly unhappy at being relegated to the floor. “Fine.” Clint pats the small space between Phil’s legs and the back of the couch. Lucky jumps up with impressive precision, turns on the spot three times, and finally lowers himself. He fits just so, his head resting against Phil’s side. His tail thumps against Clint’s thigh until Phil scratches behind his ears. 

Clint slides down until he can rest his head against the cushions. He tucks Phil’s calves more securely into his lap.

“You’re good at this,” Phil says. “Taking care of people.”

Clint wants to object to that; he’s terrible at people in general. But he’s trying really hard with Phil, and everything he’s done today came fairly easily to him. Maybe he’s learning how to take care of Phil. 

That’s a lot to take in, and Clint isn’t quite ready to face all the implications of it, so he looks at Phil instead, who has that fond expression again. Instead of averting his eyes, Clint holds Phil’s gaze and lets him see that the fondness is very much returned.

Clint can only do this open acknowledgment of profound feelings for so long. “Um, so, I was thinking pizza for dinner?” He asks while fussing with the blanket covering Phil. Lucky’s ears perk up at the mention of pizza.

“That’s fine. I’m not sure if I can taste it.” He sounds wistful. The pizza place around the corner is damn good and Clint would be disappointed, too.

“I’ll get the chicken soup first. Maybe it helps.”

Phil reaches for Clint’s hand. “You don’t have to.”

Clint laces their fingers together. “No, I don’t. But I want to.”

It’s Phil’s turn to look away. They’re both not great with the whole open acknowledgment of feelings thing. At least they got their act together enough to confess the existence of said feelings to one another.

“How about you close your eyes for another hour and then I’ll head out?”

Phil nods. He fluffs the pillow until it’s just right and sinks into it. Lucky beats Phil to sleep; his paw twitches as he gets caught up in a dream.

Clint pulls out his phone. He needs to devise a plan that will allow Phil to stay home tomorrow, or lets him sleep in at the very least.

Time to call in some favors.


End file.
